ROB GANSON : She Wrote
JEFFREY A. ALFIER : Culminating Point
ROBERT P. BEVERIDGE : Yearn
POETRYREPAIRS v13.07:076
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All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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She Wrote Culminating Point Yearn


ROB GANSON
She Wrote
   
(for Adrienne Rich)
  She wrote such tendrils of words that even the hibiscus wept at the splinters in the flesh of the other the egg bereft of shell the unlicensed love of mercy's concubine in a violent world of goats and donkey-bombs   and when her quill pricked at the fortress when she sang of unmentionable love and victims of cancerous maps third eyes blinked at the audacity of truth   Uncouth, the censors railed unkempt flirtations  of the three-strike woman battering at libraries with kisses and forceps dragging words to a nation of upturned faces waiting for the first minstrel to sing the song of the round peg in a square world   Her stanzas unfurled like secret serpents wrapped 'round a spear that struck at the heart of her cage of my cage and painted rage that softened our borders like cemetary roses  bleeding through the storm   For Adrienne I will scream my secrets obliterate borders display the gesticulating monsters astride vast guns and podiums display the lotus with a soft and pointed pen For Adrienne I will bleed words like tears of undiscovered nations  
POETRYREPAIRS 13.07:076
I have many things to write unto you but I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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She Wrote Culminating Point Yearn


JEFFREY C. ALFIER
Culminating Point
The point in time and space when...the defender no longer has the ability to accomplish his purpose. This can be due to factors such as combat power remaining, logistic support, weather, morale, and fatigue. US Army Field Manual 101-5-1, Sept 1997 No, my father. Despite the proverb, they do exist in foxholes. They just bend deep in the earth and whisper to Death that they have no souls, and tell themselves they are as sleepless and homeless as the Son of Man.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.07: 076
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato

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She Wrote Culminating Point Yearn


ROBERT P. BEVERIDGE 
Yearn 
The limp touch of the comatose and the inability to wake. The sky is clear but for one bird, who settles on a branch, looks for food. Sleep a necessity borne of indigestion. How can we walk through streets ankle-deep in the filth of a broken sewer main? The world does not contain the coat large enough to gird your steps. The limp kiss of the comatose and the inability to wake.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.07: 076
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ROB GANSON : She Wrote
JEFFREY A. ALFIER : Culminating Point
ROBERT P. BEVERIDGE : Yearn

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